The Irregulars
by YYHfan-KB
Summary: Holmes & Watson take turns telling short stories from their time together at 221B Baker St. Updated Sporadically and just a bit silly in parts. Updated sporadically, read at your own risk, and I promise it's clean.
1. We All Fall

Genre: Friendship

Warning: None

Title: **We All Fall**

* * *

The rain was pouring down in sheets when I returned from my practice that day. It had been very busy due to the out break of colds that kept most of my patients in bed since the weather had turned foul last week as it was oft known to do. My leg was throbbing, I desperately wanted to get off it and relax in front of a warm fire.

I had just made it to the landing stairs and was removing my coat when a door above me slammed and a large man came rushing down the stairs in a great hurry.

Then the door was torn open and Holmes came bolting out yelling for someone to stop the man. Fortunately my years playing rugby kicked in and I tackled the man, wet coat in hand, to the ground where he lay moaning.

"An excellent tackle Watson," Holmes came down the stairs rubbing his head where I could clearly see a bump forming, "that man is highly wanted by the Yard for a most heinous crime."

The door behind me opened suddenly and Lestraude entered along a few constables to apprehend the prostrate man on the floor. With no more than a tip of his hat to both of us and a hurried thanks Lestraude and his boys left half walking, half carrying the man between them.

"Well that was exciting," I muttered as I hung up my coat. When I turned around Holmes was leaning against the wall by the stair clutching his head where the bump was clearly visible.

He saw me examining the wound from across the hall and said, "Watson, dear fellow, would you be so kind as to examine this little present Mr. Highacre left me?"

"Of course Holmes, why don't we go upstairs?" I offered him my arm to help him back up the stairs despite my throbbing leg since he was now wobbling dangerously, possibly on the verge of losing consciousness.

He gratefully accepted my arm as we ascended the seventeen steps to our sitting room where I then cared for his swollen bump. Once I was satisfied that nothing too terrible would come of it besides a splitting headache I told Holmes to try to relax on the sofa.

After he was comfortably settled, pipe in one hand, the other draped over his eyes, I sat down for bit to relax before deciding to retrieve something to read, so I moved over to the bookshelf to select a medical journal.

Just as I was about to go sit in my arm chair my leg seized up painfully, and it buckled under me causing me to fall ungracefully while spilling my medical journal out of my hands. The sheer intensity of the crippling attack caused me to whimper slightly as the muscle in my leg refused to move.

"Easy old boy," Holmes was by me in an instant helping me carefully move to my chair and settled me in it. He arranged a pillow on a settee to prop my stiff leg up with, "the weather really got you today didn't it Watson?"

I grimaced, "It appears so my friend, it is most embarrassing to have fallen like that."

"It's all right," a small chuckle escaped his thin lips, "everyone falls at some point or another but the important thing is to always get back up." After retrieving my journal he reseated himself on the sofa and proceeded to fall into a light nap.

Just as I thought he was truly asleep he told me, "It helps when there's someone to get back up for…"

With a smile I replied, "It does indeed."

* * *

**A/N: **All right, I'm just going to say that this is yet another drable series of usually one-shots that I'd like to have all in one place.

The genre will vary and I'll tell you at the top what genre it falls in, some will be angst, some will be humorous, and I'm sure some will gravitate towards friendship.

^_^ KB


	2. Only A True Actor Would

Title:** Only a True Actor Would**

Genre: Humor

Warnings: None that I can think of...

* * *

"Holmes, why is there a pair of dirty socks in my chair?" I pointed out said dirty socks and cocked an eyebrow in hopes that the detective would kindly remove them.

"Is that where I put those?" Holmes turned around from his dressing table where he had been applying who knows what to his face and arms, black smudges of what could possibly be charcoal were artfully placed so it looked as if he were a dock worker.

Turning back around he finished applying a few last touches then practiced a harsh cough before standing and snagging his disgusting socks from my chair stuffing his feet into them then a pair of scuffed up boots.

"Don't wait up for me, I'll probably be gone until very late this evening." With a cheery wave Holmes left me standing there in shock that he'd actually put those things on his feet, it couldn't possibly be healthy.

The layer of dirt and grime on them was so bad that it was hard to tell what color they had been originally; I actually believe I had seen them twitch.

It was just a bit scary that Holmes was willing to wear those socks when who knew what strange creatures lived in them….

Ah, the lengths the detective would go to in order to make him self appear like a scurvy dock worker. Shaking my head I settled down on the sofa to read after deciding I didn't want to sit in my arm chair just then.


	3. Tricked Part 1

Genre: Friendship/Adventure

Warnings: None in this chapter

Title: **Tricked Part 1**

* * *

Holmes had gone out early and I was sitting in my usual armchair reading today's paper when Mrs. Hudson came flying in, "Doctor, there's a gentleman waiting at the door who says he needs your assistance immediately."

I of course immediately stood and snatched up my medical bag and headed out the door to find a young man standing just outside of it hand poised about to knock, "Can I help you?" I inquired.

"Sir, please, I'm begging you to come quick, my wife is deathly ill and no doctor who's seen her seems to know what's the matter. Please sir, if you could but help her I'd be ever grateful."

I examined the young man swiftly, short, army-cut hair that had just begun to grow out was plastered down by sweat and his eyes were nervous, darting here and there. Khaki trousers and a hastily pulled on knit sweater were also drenched with sweat.

"Of course, I always do what I can to help those in need." I quickly ushered him out the door to the waiting cab.

Once we were seated the young man spoke, "Dr. Watson, my name is Edward Milling and I apologize for this." Before I could react he drew out from his jacket a handkerchief and pressed it to my mouth and nose, a sweet sickly smell filled my nose.

Just before I drifted into unconsciousness I heard him say to himself, "Let's see how that detective deals with this…"


	4. Tricked Part 2

Genre: Friendship/Adventure

Warnings: scary situation?

Title: **Tricked Part 2**

* * *

When I awoke I was bound to a straight back chair in the middle of a small room. Taking in my surroundings I noticed how old everything seemed, the cracking walls were yellowed with age, the floor was rough and uneven, and the sole door was clearly warped from the damp.

No window let light into my gloomy prison, only a single guttering candle on a rickety peeling table illuminated the tiny room.

The chair I was strapped onto was nailed firmly to the floor, and the constraints I was bound by were extremely tight so there was no hope of slipping away from my unknown captors.

I don't know how long I sat there waiting for something to happen. When the door finally creaked open and the young man stepped in I was ready for whatever he would throw my way.

"Dr. Watson, you know Sherlock Holmes better than any other person in the world," Milling stood directly in front of me, "what does it take to make him feel pain?"

My confusion must have shown on my face because Milling sneered and said, "What is his weak point doctor?"

I attempted a shrug, "As far as I know Holmes has no weak point."

"Everyone has a weak point doctor, everyone." Milling leaned right down into my face, so close I could smell his foul breath, "Even the great Sherlock Holmes has one and you know it. So tell me, and I'll spare your life."

I remained mute, deciding that to tell this man anything would be just as bad as not saying anything.

"Not going to say anything?" Milling stood up, "Fine then, why don't I introduce you to Reggie?"

Turning around he opened the door to admit an ugly looking fellow, he had greasy yellow hair and when he leered at me I could see that he'd had several teeth knocked crooked.

"Ya need me mister Milling?" Reggie smirked.

"This gentleman is unwilling to talk to me civilly, would you stimulate him?" Milling gestured towards me and left closing the door behind him.

Reggie looked at me and I could tell that my life was about to be full of pain.


	5. Tricked Part 3

Genre: Friendship/Adventure

Warnings: …. Nothing yet…. Beginning to wonder if I really need this….

Title: **Tricked Part 3 (Holmes POV)**

* * *

I received an urgent message from my brother telling me that I was needed immediately in Victoria about four in the morning. I of course immediately headed for the train station to catch the first train to Victoria after sending a reply that I was coming as quickly as I could.

When I got there though I found no sign of my brother or any of his numerous agents, after questioning the telegram operators I was told that no one of my brother's description had been seen I realized it had been ruse to remove me from London for almost a full day.

Cursing to myself as I boarded the train back to London I had the same questions swirling round in my mind over and over, _who sent the telegram? Why divert me for a day? What does this unknown person wish to achieve? _

My impatience to return to my lodgings and set about discovering who had misled me was growing with every second I spent wasted on the train.

It was almost ten o'clock when I finally reached home, where I found to my dismay, that Watson had been called out earlier to tend to an ailing young woman and he hadn't returned.

Not only was I deprived of my companion but I smelled a rat, it had been almost a month since my last interesting case and the hint of something exciting had drawn me out rather quickly. The fact that Watson had been gone all day alarmed me; surely no illness could be so severe as to keep my friend away all day.

Mrs. Hudson had told me that Dr. Watson had left about five this morning and could only give a vague description of the man who had come calling.

"He was blond, short haired, real upset, average build. Oh Mr. Holmes, you do think the Doctor's all right don't you?" Mrs. Hudson was almost in tears over that fact that Watson could possibly be in danger.

"I don't know Mrs. Hudson, I honestly don't know." I patted her shoulder carefully and went upstairs to wait. If Watson hadn't returned by ten tomorrow morning I was going to find him even if it meant I had to tear the all of London down brick by brick to do so.

* * *

**A/N: **I know the chapters are fairly short but I've written all this in one day and I'm much better at short chapters than trying to put it all in two long monsters. Next chapter should be interesting…


	6. Tricked Part 4

Genre: Friendship/Adventure/maybe angst….

Warnings: um… scary scene?

Title: **Tricked Part 4 (Watson's POV)**

* * *

I was a bloody mess, my right shoulder was dislocated, at least three of my ribs were fractured if not broken completely, and I was bleeding from dozens of shallow cuts.

Blood curled in ribbons and dotted the floor, giving it a sinister, mottled look.

The pain all I could feel, my pride was all that kept me from crying out, and my closest friend's face was all I think about.

The creak of the door roused me from my stupor, was that devil back to torture me further? Or were they going to try to force me to speak about Holmes?

As it turned out neither prediction came true, what happened instead I will never forget.

Milling came in followed by Reggie who put a gag in my mouth and unstrapped me from the chair after securing my hands together, "Up you get." He sneered as I stumbled, my leg unwilling to support my weight.

They dragged me through what looked to be an abandoned house, and out to a waiting four wheeler. I was all but thrown in and groaned loudly as a wave of pain washed over me.

I'm sorry to say but I believe I fainted right then due to the sheer amount of pain I was experiencing.

When I came around all was dark, I was no longer moving and I realized with growing horror I was trapped in a box. From the feel of it I had been put into a coffin.

My hands tied, the gag still in my mouth, and legs immobilized I had no way of breaking free from my dangerous prison.

I could hear dirt hitting the lid of the coffin and knew that if I wasn't found soon I'd be a dead man.

Claustrophobia has never bothered me before but now at the prospect of being buried eight feet under I was experiencing it. I made an effort to control my breathing but I was panicking to much to think rationally.

If Holmes didn't find me within two hours I was done for, so I prayed.


	7. Tricked Part 5

Genre: Friendship/Suspense(sorta)

Warnings: not sure that this one really has anything worth warning about...

Title: **Tricked Part 5 (Holmes POV)**

* * *

It was shortly after seven when Wiggins burst into the sitting room out of breath and clearly agitated.

"Mister Holmes!" he doubled over breathing hard in-between words, "They put 'im in a coffin!"

I stood, violin abandoned, "Who put who in what coffin?" my pale face was drawn with worry.

"Jimmy saw 'im put the Doc in a coffin!" I was moving before Wiggins had finished speaking, "E's in Glyndebourne Cemetery sir, it's been almost an hour sir." Wiggins last words were unheard by me as I was already down the seventeen stairs and out the front door.

I was halfway into a cab before yelling back to Wiggins, "Run and get Inspector Lestraude, tell him to get all the boys he can and meet me there immediately! With shovels!"

Wiggins nodded once and sprinted off to the Yard where he hoped to find Lestraude while I urged the cabbie to go as fast as he could.

"Faster man, we've got to hurry. This is a matter of life and death!"

Cutting around corners and just barely missing several other cabs we made it to the cemetery where two of the Irregulars waited.

I clambered out of the cab and one of the scruffy boys ran up to me, "Mister Holmes, there's two biggins in there still sir, over by the mausoleum."

"Thank you Jimmy, how long has he been in there?" I patted my pockets for something to pay the cabbie distractedly.

"About an hour and a quarter," Jimmy paused seeing my expression crack slightly as my worry mounted, "but you can't go in there yet, those two blokes in there look real mean."

"Don't you worry about me," I gave him a small, sinister smile, "I'll be just fine. If anything, worry about the two fools in there."

Starting forward I stopped again, "Jimmy, Inspector Lestraude and some of his boys are going to be coming this way shortly, can you bring them?"

"Course mister Holmes." Jimmy bobbed his head, clearly worried that I was about to get in way over my head.

As I strode through the cemetery heading for the mausoleum I thought to myself, _if I don't get Watson back there will be hell to pay. _

As I passed the rows of stones I felt a chill run up my spine. _I will not fail Watson, I cannot fail him. Without him I have no reason to go on._

As my thoughts turned to a dark and grim path I forced myself to focus on the situation at hand, I could see the mausoleum in front of me and Jimmy had been right. Those two goons were huge.

I had no time to stop; if I did I might be too late to save my one true friend in this world. Covering the remaining distance between me and them I managed to knock the first one out cold before nearly being clocked by the other in the back of the head.

Cussing like a son of a gun I ducked to avoid his blow before I spun around and kicked him in the gut as hard as I could, then I knocked him out with a quick blow to the head with the butt of my pistol.

The bastards deserved a nasty fate, but there was no time for me to waste; Watson's survival rested in my hands. His grave was easily recognizable as it was the only grave in the immediate vicinity that had been freshly dug.

A convenient shovel leaned against the mausoleum wall so I snatched it up and started digging furiously.

By the time Lestraude and his boys had gotten there I had dug halfway down and with their help we uncovered the coffin in record time.

Prying it open took longer than it should have; the bastards had driven a hundred nails into it just to hamper us.

Once we got it open I all but screamed in outrage, the coffin was empty save a single neatly folded note.

_Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,_

_I regret to inform you that this is the wrong grave, good try though._

_Since I'm a fair fellow though I will tell you that you are in the right cemetery._

_Good Luck,_

_E.M._

I was angry, who was this E.M. that had the nerve to tease me like this? Why did he have to drag Watson into this?

If my glare could burn holes through the paper in front of me I believe it would have, "Lestraude, have your men fan out and start searching for any fresh grave." I snapped as I folded the paper and shoved it into a pocket.

We started searching in a grid pattern, each man was assigned a letter row and we began looking for any disturbed soil.

The Irregulars helped as well, each boy was on the lookout for any disturbed soil.

A cry to my left told me that Lestraude had found something, rushing over I saw it; a fresh grave with a crude marker "John Watson" written on it.

Grabbing up our shovels we all dug in, trying to beat death from catching my friend. We dug frantically until our shovels scraped on the coffin lid.

I wedged the crow bar under the lid and heaved with all my might cracking the lid open.


	8. Tricked Part 6

Genre: Friendship/Drama

Warnings: ... if you see anything that needs warning against let me know...

Title: **Tricked Part 6 (Holmes POV)**

* * *

There he was, paler than a ghost and covered in blood but my Boswell was still breathing, albeit shallowly.

I shoved the coffin lid at someone, probably Lestraude, and knelt as close as I could to my friend to help him up.

Some dirt had fallen in on his face; I brushed it away as carefully as I could before gingerly propping him up on my shoulder.

I could tell he needed medical attention immediately and wasted no time in telling Lestraude so.

If finding Watson had taken forever, it felt like the emergency responders were taking an eternity to reach us. Once they had Lestraude himself helped me lift Watson out of the grave and onto a waiting stretcher.

They rushed him off to the hospital and I chose to remain behind to help Lestraude determine who had kidnapped Watson from me.

I examined the grave site to no avail; it had been too badly trampled by everyone who had been helping dig Watson out. The overlapping footprints had confused whatever evidence might have been there.

The only clues I found were the crooked wooden tombstone and a swatch of black fabric that had snagged on the coffin edge.

The inside of the coffin was actually dented in some places, most likely where Watson had struggled, and in several spots pools of blood had gathered. I saw the blood and felt a cold fury rising, these bastards had badly injured my Boswell.

Forcing the fury back I walked with Lestraude to interview the prisoners. The two of them were under heavy guard and several constables were giving them dirty looks. _Watson must have made more friends than I thought in the Yard._

I quickly took in the details; the one on the left was scruffy, he had ragged dirty blonde hair, a jagged scar crossed his left eye, his clothing was certainly secondhand, scuffed and worn boots, frayed shirt, and patched breeches all reeked of villainy. _Probably a dock or factory worker, most likely muscle for hire._

The second man was little better; his hair was slightly neater and it was pulled back in a short pony-tail, his tan told me he'd been abroad recently, but the shabbiness of his dress was an indication that he had fallen on hard times. The calluses on his hands told me that he was probably a ship hand.

I let Lestraude start the interrogation, "Who hired you?" his direct questioning methods had worked in the past so I let him continue, "Who are you working for?"

I stood watching them for another moment but neither man acted like they heard him so I stepped in, "Gentlemen," I gave them a small sinister smile, "perhaps you would care to tell us who you are working for before I lose my temper and do something rash. You see, the other grave contained my still alive friend Doctor John Watson, and if he dies…" I let the threat hang in the air and could tell it was effective by the way the first man fidgeted and glanced nervously at his companion.

I leaned down so I was eye to eye with the scruffier man and all but hissed in his face, "If my friend dies I will get revenge."

The terror in his eyes was clear; he knew I wasn't kidding around. Unfortunately the second guy decided to be a smartass at that exact moment, "So you think you're so high and mighty, I'd love to see you try anything. All these coppers around wouldn't let you lay a finger on us."

He smirked believing himself to be safe from my wrath, he was dead wrong.

Every police officer chose that exact moment to be extremely absorbed in the ground or sky around them rather than me and the two prisoners on the ground. In one swift movement I kicked the man in the ribs hard, not so hard as to break them or leave a bruise, but hard enough to get my point across.

Spluttering in outrage he wheezed out, "You – can't do – that."

Stepping back as I straightened my coat I asked him civilly one more time, "Who are you working for?"

At first he didn't seem to want to part with the information but when faced with the threat of my doing worse damage to him caused him to reconsider in a hurry.

"Edward Milling, he hired us to hang out by that grave for a couple of hours and look scary, that's all I swear."

I nodded, he was telling the truth luckily for him. I turned to Lestraude, "Does that name ring any bells for you?"

The short inspector thought for a moment then spoke, "If it's the Edward Milling I'm thinking of then we could be in for a lot of trouble."

"Oh? Do tell." I vaguely recalled the name from several months ago.

"If my memory serves me right Edward Milling is the brother of the man we wanted for the Trespoff murders, and I'm guessing that he's bitter about his brother's death in that shootout."

It all came rushing back to me; James Milling had killed three men in cold blood at Trespoff manor. We had cornered him in one of the dock warehouses, the standoff there had lead to a violent shoot-out in which I ended up being the one who had shot James just before he was about to shoot Lestraude in the back.

"Edward Millings must be after us then," I grimaced, "my day just went from really bad, to even worse."

"At least we know who we're looking for now." Lestraude managed to find a small bright spot in the comfort of the knowledge that we knew who Watson's kidnapper was most likely.

I swore silently to myself as we headed for the cemetery's entrance, _if John dies I will kill Edward Millings no matter the cost._


	9. Tricked Part 7

Genre: Friendship/Drama (sorta)

Warnings: scary dreams...

Title: **Tricked Part 7 (Watson's POV)**

* * *

I could hear murmuring on the edges of my hearing as I drifted in and out of consciousness, "Not sure…Maybe he'll make…Calm…it's not your…"

Everything ached, from my bones to my soul I hurt. The villains had not gotten anything out of me though, my iron will and loyal friendship to Holmes had prevented me from uttering anything except occasional curses directed at my captors.

Struggling to open my eyes I let out a small whimper when I did manage to open one lid only to be blinded by an overly bright light overhead. A pair of thin cold hands brushed my cheek and I heard a familiar voice say, "Steady old boy, it's all right, you're safe here. Get some rest."

Reassured I allowed myself to relax knowing I was in good hands if Holmes were here and I drifted back into the land of dark dreams.

-_that devil came back again, I had no way of fighting him off so I simply spat in his face and called him a bastard again and again. In response to my cursing, 'Reggie' as he was so quaintly called although the Devil's right hand man would be more like it, took the whip to me._

_They untied me from the chair and I was chained to a post that Reggie had brought in with him and fastened onto the floor beside my chair._

_I was lashed so many times that I lost count after a hundred; my body jerked with each lash as it hit an already open wound. Then, it stopped as suddenly as it had begun. _

_I was left to kneel in my blood chained to that horrible wooden post, the sickly sweet smell of my blood mingled with iron clogged my nose and I could feel myself choking on the terrible smell.-_

"Easy." cold hands brought me back from the nightmares my mind was recalling, "Easy Doctor, it's all right."

I opened my eyes to see the haggard face of my good friend staring down at me as he leaned over my bedside.

"Holmes…" I managed to croak out his namereaching with an unsteady hand to catch his to reassure myself that he was real and I wasn't hallucinating.

"It's me Watson; I won't go anywhere I promise." I tried to sit up but he pushed me back down gently, "No, don't sit up old chap. You're still in pretty bad shape."

"Water…" I coughed feebly and barely managed to suppress a wince when he carefully lifted my head up so I could drink from the cup with one hand. After sipping some water I felt better, my throat was parched and I felt extremely thirsty but I knew better than to guzzle it.

"Thanks Holmes." I muttered just before darkness overcame me again, plunging me back into the world of nightmares.

_-I couldn't see, it was pitch black. Wincing as the movement reopened wounds I felt around to see if I really was in what I thought I was in. A coffin, they had buried me alive. I felt the panic welling up and I knew that I didn't have long so I prayed that Holmes would find me._

_I could hear the thump of dirt as it hit the lid, and knew I wouldn't last long without air. I thrashed like a wild thing in hopes of somebody hearing me and finding me even though I knew it was in vain._

_I let the panic loose and I screamed; I screamed until I could scream no more, until my throat became so hoarse and raw that I could barely breathe. The box seemed to be getting closer; I was going to be crushed I-_

Hands held me down, not Holmes, unfamiliar hands tried in vain to stop me from moving. I thrashed wildly, not caring how many stitches I broke open, not caring that the people around me weren't trying to hurt me, only knowing the oppressive closeness of the coffin.

My eyes opened and my panic slowed, I was in a hospital, not at the hands of those monsters. I tried to apologize to the people around me, but all of them waved it off like my incident was nothing.

After Doctor Morose checked my stitches and patched up a few that I had torn loose in my panic I was allowed to settle back into the pillows in an attempt to relax.

A few minutes later Holmes came in, his usual calm demeanor was cracked, his emotions were highly visible and I could tell he was experiencing something between relief and grief.

"Watson," he smiled at me as he perched precariously on the chair at my bedside, "it's truly good to have you back among the upright. Or at least mostly upright."

I couldn't help but grin at his teasing, "It is good to see you to Holmes," I hesitated, "are you doing all right? You look dreadful."

"You've been unconscious for nearly a week and a half." my jaw must have dropped open or something of the sort because he gave another of those rare grins before jibing me with, "The people next to you complained of the snoring, they said it was like a chain saw grating on metal all week."

"I do not snore." I stiffened slightly in mock seriousness before relaxing and giving Holmes a playful smile.

He patted my knee and leaned back in his chair, "It does me good to see that your humor hasn't been too badly affected my friend." Holmes seemed to hesitate before going on, "We caught Edward Milling the day before yesterday, his associate slipped away before we could draw the net around them but don't worry we'll get him."

I nodded, "I know you will Holmes. Say, when do you think I can go home?" I wanted nothing more than to be in my armchair by the fire in our sitting room.

"Perhaps the good doctors will release you tomorrow." Holmes smiled again, I swear I've never seen the man so happy, "Don't worry, if they don't I will personally break you out of here."

I laughed, it was good to see my friend in such a good humor and it had been so long since he had been happy, "I hope it doesn't come to that Holmes," a shadow of doubt crossed my mind, "I've been having some bad dreams…"

"It's all right; I'll be there to help you through them." Holmes eyes were filled with concern, and then the moment was broken when Lestraude intruded.

"Hello Holmes, Doctor Watson." Lestraude stood at the foot of my bed shifting from one foot to another, clearly uneasy, "I'm sorry but I need to talk to Holmes for a moment Doctor if that's all right by you."

"Of course," I sighed inwardly, "go right ahead Lestraude."

Holmes stood up, "I shan't be but a moment old chap." He and Lestraude went to speak quietly in the corner, guessing from the terse gestures from Lestraude and the empathetic no's from Holmes something was up. Finally Holmes conceded the point and the two of them returned, Lestraude looking even more uncomfortable than ever.

"Doctor, I need your statement." Lestraude blurted out, "I'm sorry Doctor, but it's extremely important that you tell me exactly what happened."

I drew in a deep breath trying to gather my strength before beginning, "Nine days ago I was called upon by a nervous young gentleman who said his wife was dying…"


	10. Tricked Part 8 Finale

Genre: Friendship

Warnings: …. *shrugs*…. None necessary that I can see

Title: **Tricked Part 8 Finale (Holmes POV)**

* * *

I sat through Watson's retelling of his experiences at the hands of his cruel captors. How the man kept himself together like he did is beyond me, even I the great Sherlock Holmes, would never have been able to endure the horrors the good doctor had been faced with.

As he explained that the villains wanted information about me I stiffened; it was my fault then that this had happened.

Lestraude asked his questions carefully, mindful not to probe too much in case he upset Watson. There were a few points I could tell Watson was hiding something, not things that would portend to Lestraude's investigation, but little things that he didn't want to tell right then.

Watson didn't go into specifics about the torture he was submitted to but he did give us a pretty good idea of what had happened. It was horrible enough without

His story took the better part of two hours to tell and by the time he had finished Lestraude was almost dead white, "Doctor I don't know how you withstood all that." Lestraude remarked as he closed his notebook getting ready to leave.

"I'm stronger than you would think." As he settled back into his pillow Watson gave us both a wan smile.

Lestraude left and I made myself comfortable in the chair I had been basically living in for the past few days when Watson's voice stopped me, "Go home old man, I'll be fine." Seeing my sulky expression he added, "I'll still be here, I promise Sherlock. Get some rest."

"Only because its you." I stood up with a muffled groan, "Get some sleep yourself, and don't worry; tomorrow you'll be home safe and sound in your own bedroom."

Giving him one last fond look I turned and left, headed home for the first time in days. My mood was actually pretty good, we'd have Reggie in our grasp within days and Watson was on his way to recovering pretty well not to mention the fact that he'd be home by this time tomorrow come hell or high water. Or just really angry doctors.

I couldn't care one way or another, as long as I had my Boswell my life had meaning, without him I would be reduced to nothing. Nothing but an emotionless machine unable to deal with ridiculous emotions.

Yes, I decided, I am a lucky man to have found someone so loyal and kind as John Watson for a friend.

And there is nothing on this earth that will ever change that.

* * *

**A/N:** I hope you all enjoyed Tricked, now that it's officially over and I'd like to thank the people who've read this and left me a review (all 2 of you). I'll be continuing the drabbles of course, maybe another story arc. I will admit I had not planned on Tricked becoming so long.

Thanks for reading thus far, leave me a review letting me know what you think, or drop me an idea.

^_^ KB


	11. Nobody Touches the Detective's Boswell

**Title:** Nobody Touches the Detective's Boswell

**A/N:** I strongly recommend listening to Abney Park's Victorian Vigilante while you read this chapter since this story was inspired by it.

* * *

He strode down the street with a definite purpose, one gloved hand wrapped firmly wrapped around his oak cane, his other free to draw the hidden sword within against anyone who interfered with him tonight. He was beyond angry right now – he was furious. Not even the most urgent of cases held his attention tonight, because earlier in the day a gang of thugs had attacked Watson while he was on his rounds in one of the seedier areas in London.

Holmes hadn't learned of the attack until around five that afternoon, when Watson got home from the station where he had been giving his statement to the police. Watson had brushed the incident off, but Holmes had been seething – no-one touches John Watson, no-one. Holmes had considered just handing the gang over to Lestrade, but then thought perhaps it would be better if he dealt with it himself.

So Holmes spent the rest of the evening retracing Watson's steps from the house he had come from, through the route the had taken on his way home. After finding a somewhat reliable, if cowardly, informant, all it took was a few threats to remove certain important body parts before Holmes knew who the gang was and, better yet, where they were.

He could barely suppress the fury that was overwhelming him. Watson had three cracked ribs, and a fourth was broken because of these bastards - not to mention the black eye and swollen knuckles he had also acquired, thanks to the villains.

They were going down, and they were going down hard. Holmes wasn't going to kill them, no – he was going to incapacitate them and make them realize just how bad an idea touching his Boswell was, no matter what.

The warehouse had been clearly abandoned for a while; cracked windows, peeling paint and rusted locks created a foreboding atmosphere. The light rain that was coming down rolled off Holmes' dark coat; he paid the wet conditions no mind as he crossed the empty lot, stepping over the muddy puddles that were forming in the pock-marked ground.

Stepping up to the weathered side door, Holmes could hear the sound of drunken laughter inside...

The fight was hectic, and over far too soon. Holmes didn't even have to draw his sword, much to his disappointment, since the fools were far too drunk to put up a proper brawl. A rap of the heavy oak cane here, and a swift jab there incapacitated four men. A right cross knocked out another before anyone had the chance to even touch Holmes. The last three rushed him but didn't work well together – Clown A took down Clown B with a badly timed swing of a wooden plank.

He left the last two battered and barely conscious, leaning against a pile of crates after snarling, "If I ever catch so much as the vaguest hint that any of you fools have been anywhere near Doctor John Watson again, you will not live to see the next day. Tell the rest of your cronies when they wake up that unless they wish for an early death, they'll steer clear."

With that, Holmes turned on his heel and strode out of the warehouse, leaving the thugs to recover and spread the word that Doctor John Watson was not a man to even consider as a target, no matter how tempting. No-one interfered with John Watson ever again in the lower districts of London, and Holmes never told him about the swift revenge that had befallen the foolish gang who had robbed the doctor that night.

* * *

**A/N: **I'd like to give special thanks to Riandra who gave me the idea and then edited this short for me. Without Ria this one wouldn't have made it out of the lumber room, thanks for the idea!

^_^ KB


	12. Drastic Measures at 3 am

**Title: Drastic Measures at 3:00 a.m.**

* * *

I believe that Sherlock Holmes most annoying, although occasionally soothing, habit is when he plays violin at all hours of the night and day. During a case is one thing when I understand his need to think about something and the music provides the perfect channel for his frustrations.

However, when not on a case I feel violin practice should be held at decent hours, not at three in the bloody morning, most times I can wait out his impromptu concerts and drop back off to sleep for a while. This wasn't one of those times.

Holmes had just started playing again for the fourth night in a row and I was exhausted, my practice had been booming lately and I was keeping very busy. So I came to a decision, drastic measures would be taken.

Quietly moving about my room I prepared an injection of very strong morphine, hopefully it would make him just tired enough that he could drop off to sleep and I would be able to get some much needed rest.

I very carefully moved to my door, one ear cocked for the cessation of the music, as I opened slowly I heard the music rise in volume and tempo. Feeling certain that Holmes was so engrossed in his music that he wouldn't hear the creak of the stairs I started down.

Halfway down the music halted and I thought myself to be discovered, but it was not the case, he had merely paused to emphasize the next bar.

Reaching the slightly ajar sitting room door I peeked in, Holmes stood in his mauve dressing gown with his back towards me; his slender frame rocked in time with the music he played, the bow was a blur as he played with all his might.

I snuck in, readying myself for the strike. My target was his left butt cheek; if I could hit that then all was well… If I missed there would be some awkward explaining to do.

I struck quickly before he could turn, and pushed down on the plunger before he had time to react. Holmes emitted a small yelp and his bow slipped causing the violin to screech horribly.

I stepped back just before he spun around, his expression one of pure shock.

"Watson?"

"Yes Holmes?"

"What did you do?" He started to say slightly, his hands growing slack.

"Just gave you a small dose of morphine old boy, nothing that will harm you of course, but it should take the edge off enough that you can sleep." I carefully took his violin from him and guided him to the sofa where he all but collapsed.

By the time I had put away the violin and turned back to him Holmes was already out cold. I carefully tucked him in with an afghan and headed towards the stairs to my own bed.

I knew there'd be hell to pay in the morning, but one night of decent sleep was worth it.

"Good night old boy," I whispered softly as I glanced back at the already sprawled out detective, "sleep well."


	13. Day After Drastic Measures

**Title: Day After Drastic Measures**

* * *

_Why can't I open my eyes, have I been kidnapped and drugged? No, wait, I remember Watson saying something to me... Was I ill?_

_No, I didn't have any of the signs of being ill..._

_Oh._

_He drugged me,-_ the memories come back -_said it was only a low dosage to help me sleep..._

As Sherlock Holmes lay on the couch trying to recollect what had happened and why; Watson was already out the door on his days rounds.

By the time Holmes got up it was noon and he ended up ringing for lunch.

"Mrs. Hudson, where is the good doctor?" he asked when their landlady brought up a cold sandwhich.

"I believe he went out on his rounds some time ago, he said not to disturb you."

"Ah, I see." Staring at his sandwich Holmes lost himself in thought until Watson returned.

Watson trudged up the stairs wondering how his friend was feeling. More likely than not Holmes wouldn't be too pleased with Watson drugging him the night before.

_If nothing else I can plead it was for his own good, the man hadn't slept in who know's how long and no one can go that long without closing their eyes for at least a few hours. _

Opening the sitting room door Watson found Holmes sitting at the dining table staring vacantly at a plate full of crumbs.

"Holmes?" Watson hated breaking the silence and starting what could possibly be a very nasty argument but he knew it was necessary.

Holmes looked up suprised, "Oh, Watson, you're home." Holmes stood up from the table and moved over to his spot on the sofa where his discarded blanket lay.

Watson sat carefully down in his armchair waiting for the tirade.

"I'm not going to bite you Watson, although why you chose to deliever morphine via the spot you chose I don't know." Holmes grimaced slightly and rubbed one hand over the afore-mentioned area before continuing, "I believe your motives were for my own good, however, in the future if you would be so kind as to simply tell me to go to bed and perhaps if you deem necessary a sleep inducer rather than sneak up behind me and stab me with wild abandon."

Watson merely nodded, he was grateful Holmes had seen his reasoning in the situation. "Will do."

With that Holmes moved over to his violin and began to play a soft melody that lasted only until bedtime for once.


	14. Treacherous Door

*THWACK*

*Thump*

"Holmes?"

"Argh…"

"Holmes are you alright?"

"That door jumped out and bit me!"

"You ran straight into you mean because you weren't looking."

"I did not!"

"…"

"I didn't!"

"Uh-huh, you forgot to look before you tried charging off on something again didn't you?"

"I always look Watson!"

"No you don't, I remember a certain time when you had left a bowling ball and a mouse trap in the middle of the living room and-"

"That was a freak accident!"

"Sure it was."

"Oh do be quiet."

"You're the one that didn't watch where he was going."

"…"

"Ever heard the phrase 'look before you leap' Holmes?"

"I fail to see how that applies here, I wasn't leaping."

"Just watch where you're going next time."

"I was."

"…"

"Ok maybe not a hundred percent watching where I was going, but it won't happen again."

"Uh-huh, sure it won't."

"..."

"..."

"Watson?"

"Yes Holmes?"

"Where was I going? I seem to have misplaced the information as too why I was running out the door."

"You didn't say."

"Oh."

"This is what happens when you've not had a case for three weeks and haven't slept properly in four days."

"I've slept!"

"Passing out in the middle of an experiment for fifiteen minutes does not count as sleep."

"Its still sleep!"

"No, its not."

"Whatever."


	15. Aim

Holmes should have expected it, he had been in the army after all, but even his jaw dropped at the perfect outline of the motionless thief in bullet holes.

Watson stood; ready to shoot again, this time fatally, should the thief decide to make a desperate break for it.

"Bloody hell," Lestraude stood behind the doctor in shock, "you weren't kidding when you said you were a good shot."

Watson shrugged one shoulder, his other hand perfectly steady, and Lestraude moved to disarm the thief.

As Lestraude led the frightened would be thief away Holmes remarked to Watson his usually somber grey eyes sparkling in amusement and something akin to awe, "Remind me to never make you mad at me Watson, you have deadly aim."

"Don't worry Holmes, I wouldn't shoot you, I'd throw the book at you again." Watson chortled as a look of horrified disgust passed over Holmes' face.

"Anything but that book, please."

"I still don't know why you don't like the book 'For He Who Waits With the Moon'." Watson watched as Holmes' emotions were briefly at war with each other before settling into a mask of neutrality.

Holmes offered his dear friend his arm, "Yes my dear chap, you do indeed have deadly aim with not only your revolver but your words and choices in reading material as well."


	16. How Do You Feel About Being Blue?

"Watson, don't open-" Holmes suddenly panicky voice caused me to jerk suddenly and I pulled the string in my hand causing the packaging of the parcel in front of me to rip free in an explosion of blue.

Coughing I waved my hands trying to disperse the air of the sticky blue substance that was drying rapidly on me and the surrounding areas.

"Oh my." I looked to my direct left where Holmes stood painted in blue from head to toe, the dining table was coated blue, and looking down I saw that I was blue as well.

"Well at least it wasn't deadly." I tried to make light of the situation while Holmes stood there clearly horrified at the blue ruins of his dressing gown and pipe, not to mention his face and hands.

"Watson, why, for the love of all things holy, did you open that package?" Holmes spoke slowly like he might to a child.

"It was addressed to me, not you." I raised an eyebrow at his expression which shifted from stone to shock to outrage in a matter of seconds.

"It was addressed to you? From who?" He snatched up the remains of the blue box and tried to make out the return address.

I shrugged and proceeded to the wash basin to scrub my hands where to my horror I found that the blue substance refused to wash off.

"Watson, there's no point in trying to scrub it off like that. The ink used was permanent." Holmes sat down in his breakfast chair and opened the blue smeared paper while I leaned against my chair coming to terms with the fact that I would probably be blue for a few days.

"How long do you think it will last Holmes?" I sat back down and began to salvage what I could from the blue coating on the table.

"One or two weeks."

I looked up in absolute horror, "I'm going to have to go to my Aunt Emma's wedding looking like a blueberry?"

"Unfortunately yes." Holmes peered over the top of his paper at me, "But you won't be alone, remember I'm your plus one."

I just barely resisted the urge to hit my head on the table in frustration. "So we're going to my Aunt Emma's wedding looking like a pair of blueberries, this is going to be just wonderful Holmes."

"Think of it this way Watson, it'll leave a lasting impression."

I groaned and rubbed a blue stained hand over my probably blue face. This was going to be just fantastic.


End file.
